


100 Miles And Running

by Fireauricle



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: America and Italy aren't That Bad Once You Get to Know Them, Germany and England are Poor Innocent Babies, Hungary and Japan Done Goofed This Time, M/M, Seme!America, Seme!Germany, Smut, Stalking, Uke!England, Uke!Italy, Yandere!America, Yandere!Italy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 05:53:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7210613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fireauricle/pseuds/Fireauricle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hungary and Japan, sick of some of our favourite nations not confessing their feelings, go to Romania for help and end up with a wonderful solution, literally. But when Hungary screws up, the world ends up with two newly yanderefied nations who will stop at nothing to get the person they love, even if it is by force. And to top it all off, the effect might be permanent. What did England and Germany do to deserve this?</p>
            </blockquote>





	100 Miles And Running

**Author's Note:**

> Auricle is back with a new fic which flew its way into her head and burrowed itself a home there. I really think that Hungary and Japan could do something like this and put the whole world in danger. I also have a headcannon that Denmark, England, Prussia and Germany are cousins. The OCs for now are: -  
> Derek Kirkland – London – average height; grey eyes; dark choppy hair; lots of tattoos and piercings; kind of a punk. Loves rock, punk rock and metal.  
> Don C. Jones – Washington D.C. – Tall; blue eyes; blond; wears specs; loves gaming.  
> Heiderich Beilschmidt – Berlin – Tall; blue eyes; blond; has Prussia’s habit of terming things ‘awesome’ or ‘unawesome’.  
> Rubina Vargas – Rome – Average height; brown eyes; auburn hair; loves painting.  
> Tomoko Honda – Tokyo – Short; brown eyes; black hair; loves drawing manga and gaming.  
> Raquel Bonnefoy – Paris – Average; violet eyes; blond; loves fashion and molesting capitals.  
> Noah Williams – Ottawa – Tall; blue eyes; dark hair; wears specs; hockey maniac.  
> Marlen Braginsky – Moscow – Really tall; grey eyes and hair; loves growing sunflowers to give to his father and Beijing.  
> Bai Wang – Beijing – Short; Brown eyes and hair; wears specs; loves Beijing duck.  
> The Awesome shall do the disclaimer…  
> Prussia: - Thank you Fräulein! Fireauricle does not own Hetalia. But she owns some awesome books!  
> Auricle: - Thank you Prussia. On with the story.

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**A message I’ve thought too much about,**

**Maybe it’ll reach somebody, who can say?**

**Certainly, I’ve always been this way,**

**A patched up, crazy matryoshka.**

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Hungary leant against the wall, tapping her foot impatiently. Beside her, Japan was looking while Romania mixed some ingredients together, being careful not to spill any of them on himself. The lab had quite the eerie feeling to it, it being dark and filled with different ingredients and instruments used to make potions.

Romania put equal amounts of the potion in two vials, then added one drop of rose syrup in one of them, and one drop of jasmine syrup in the other, stirring them lightly till their colours changed. The first one turned a light shimmery pink while the other turned deep purple.

One by one, Romania took both vials and checked them against a lamp, looking at the colour and sniffing occasionally.

Hungary was getting impatient. How much more time was it going to take to make this thing? ‘ _I want some yaoi and I want it NOW!’_

Then, after appearing to be done with the quality check, Romania took both vials and sealed them with a cork.

“Is it done?” Hungary asked with barely concealed excitement, her eyes glimmering with the strange glint that only yaoi fangirls (and fanboys) seemed to possess.

“Yes. But before I hand it over to you, I want to make some things clear.” Romania said looking at them grimly with a bit of worry in his eyes. These two asking for a potion, _a love potion_ , was not something he thought would end well.

“First, this is a very, very powerful and strong potion and so you will not, _under any circumstances_ , administer more than one drop of it to the intended targets.”

“Hai”

Hungary looked at the vials skeptically while Japan agreed at once like he always did. Those vials were _so small!_ She honestly didn’t think only one drop would do anything. _‘Maybe I’ll add three or four, just to be sure!’_ she thought, trying to keep her face normal, or as normal as it could be when a delicious new yaoi doujinshi was practically hanging in her face.

Romania noticed Hungary’s look and looked at her sternly. “ _One drop, Hungary.”_

“Got it” Hungary said happily, mentally reducing the drops to three. Maybe Romania was serious.

Romania nodded, apparently relieved that Hungary didn’t start an argument asking for a valid reason to give only one drop. “Second, give the purple potion to the submissive target and the pink one to the dominant target and don’t ask me why. It’s magicky stuff and about balance and all that crap.” Romania said when Japan opened his mouth to ask a question.

“Hai”

“Okay! Is that all?” Hungary asked, too excited to wait anymore.

“No” Romania said, wiping the excitement off of Hungary’s face. “Third, don’t, _under any circumstances_ , administer the potions the other way round. Just, don’t.” Romania said, shuddering.

“Why do you say that, if I may ask Romania-san?” Japan asked with a confused expression on his face.

“Because if this happens, then you’ll have the most dominating and the most submissive nations on earth in your hands. Your dominant target will become the definition of alpha and your submissive target will practically be bathed in rainbows and cupcakes and trust me, you don’t want that.” Romania said and winced, probably remembering something. Then he looked at Hungary and Japan’s expectant faces and sighed. “That’s all.”

Hungary and Japan were out with the vials before Romania could blink. Romania was left staring at the space where they had been standing.

_‘God knows what they’re up to now.’_

 

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England was sitting in the kitchen of his hotel room, sipping a cup of mint tea and preparing himself for another day wasted trying to be heard over the chaos that was the world meeting. He had no idea why it was necessary to attend those God-forsaken meetings when they were not going to get any work done. He was going over his notes when his phone rang. He looked up to see that the person calling was London, his capital.

“Hello”

“Hi dad” London’s voice came from the phone. He wasn’t actually England’s son, no capital was their country’s child, they were more like siblings; but since England already had five brothers including Sealand, London and the counties decided to call England their dad. England didn’t mind it that much. “What are you planning to do in this world meeting?”

“Honestly, Derek? Surviving and avoiding becoming ‘one with Russia’.” England said dryly, hearing a chuckle from the other end.

“Good luck with that. I’m going to the capital conference hall myself.” London said, opening the door of the building where the conference was being held. “I swear if Paris tries to hit on me again…” He muttered.

England heard a ring as he shook his head. “And D.C. just texted me that Mr. America’s not waking up.”

England held his head in his free hand and muttered. “Bloody hell, what is wrong with that git? He should have been up an hour ago.”

“Apparently he broke his alarm clock in his sleep. This month’s fifth.” London said, hanging his coat on the coat rack and running a hand through his dark hair. “Well, I’m here. Talk to you later, dad.”

“Bye, Derek.”

London put his phone in the pocket of his pants and walked on towards the conference room, passing Moscow and Beijing on the way. London ignored them and kept an eye out for Paris, who took some sick pleasure in trying to molest him. When he made it to the conference room without incident, he let out a relieved breath and sat down on his allotted seat, which was between Washington D.C. and Tokyo. Good, he could deal with D.C. but Paris was something else entirely.

With nothing else to do, he decided to revise his notes on energy efficiency.

 

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America moaned in his sleep. He was having a beautiful dream. An NC-17 dream, but beautiful nonetheless, which is why he decided to eliminate whatever was making that irritating ringing noise in the back of his head. _‘Seriously?! Can’t the hero focus on his damsel in his dream without any interruption?!_ ’ And so America smashed the alarm clock to pieces in his sleep, not even vaguely registering that it was the fifth one he broke that month.

It was maybe half an hour later, when his beautiful dream was at its best when he heard something he knew he should recognize, but didn’t at the time. He tried to drown it out, but it grew louder, till he could finally make some words out.

Choirs….. Singing…….. Honest word…….. I ruled the world.

America shot out of his bed like a bullet and plucked his phone from the charger, falling down the bed and hitting his head on the bedside table in the process.

“Hey Iggs!”

“That’s not my name, you git!” England’s irritated voice came over the phone. America just grinned. He didn’t mind if England was the one pulling him out of his dream.

“So Iggs, why’d ya call?”

England swore under his breath, opening the door to the conference building. “Please don’t tell me you forgot you were hosting a world meeting and a party today America.”

America’s eyes widened. To be honest, he remembered the party, but had no idea about the meeting.

“FUCK!” England winced when a loud curse reached his ears and murmured, “Indeed”

America shot up and after a quick ‘bye’ to a confused England rushed towards his closet to take out his clothes and went in for a shower.

He was done in a record time of 10.4 minutes and he rushed down the stairs, tugging his bomber jacket on. He saw Pennsylvania and D.C. sitting on the table eating breakfast, although D.C. looked more like he was trying to breathe it in. Texas was sitting on the couch with a chicken bucket he got from Kentucky and was watching an NBA match, completely oblivious to the world around him with a lost look in his eyes. America sighed.

_‘He’s probably wondering how he was THIS close to being in the NFL.’_

“Morning guys!” America shouted, gaining Pennsylvania and D.C.’s attention.

“Morning dad.” Pennsylvania smiled, while D.C. tried to mumble something but ended up choking on his food.

“Easy there kiddo!” America laughed, smacking D.C. hard across his back and throwing his food back up his gullet. This time D.C. chewed it nicely and swallowed before trying to talk.

“So, dreaming about mom again?”

America blushed, seriously wishing he had let D.C. choke instead.

The 50 states had, somewhere along the last century, taken to calling England ‘mom’, for reasons unknown. The only others who knew about this were England’s counties, who kept their mouth zipped regarding the matter.

“No I wasn’t.” He mumbled, sitting down and shoving food down his throat.

“Slow down dad, you’ll choke.” Pennsylvania said and smirked. “This was a new record by the way. The alarm rang 45 minutes ago and you were asleep up until 10 minutes ago. What a long lasting and beautiful dream it must have been.”

D.C. grinned. “Don’t even try to deny it dad. You had that goofy grin on your face and you were drooling. You only do that when you’re dreaming about either mom or hamburgers.” D.C. stopped to chew for a bit and added matter-of-factly. “Or both.”

“Well at least I haven’t covered my room in half-naked posters.” America retorted, smugly watching D.C. blushing and coughing to shift attention somewhere else.

Texas, with eyes still unseeing and unfocused, butted in. “Ya’ll are lovesick idiots. Admit it.”

“I’M NOT AN IDIOT!” Both of them shouted at once.

“Yeah, yeah. You love them but what did you do instead of telling them?” Texas drawled, snapping out of his reverie. “Don has half-naked posters of London which he bought from Paris in his bedroom and dad has wet dreams about mom. You’re lovesick and you’re idiots.”

Before America and D.C. could launch themselves on Texas, Pennsylvania cut in, looking at her watch.

“Okay, both of you! Half an hour left for the meetings to start! LINE UP!”

At once, America and D.C. threw back their chairs and stood at attention, sticking their chests out with their hands up in a salute.

“YES SIR!”

Kentucky came out of the kitchen and sat down on the couch, both she and Texas making themselves comfortable to watch the hilarious sight in front of them.

Pennsylvania mentally sighed. _‘Here we go again.’_

“MAJOR C. JONES! THE THREE COMMANDMENTS!”

“I SHALL NOT INTAKE MORE THAN 10 CUPS OF COFFEE IN AN HOUR SIR! I SHALL NOT TALK ABOUT ALIENS CONSPIRING AGAINST US SIR! I SHALL NOT STARE AT LONDON AND WONDER WHERE AND HOW MANY PIERCINGS AND TATTOOS HE HAS SIR!”

Texas and Kentucky suppressed chuckles.

“GOOD! COLONEL F. JONES! THE THREE COMMANDMENTS!”

“I SHALL NOT INTAKE MORE THAN 40 HAMBURGERS IN AN HOUR SIR! I SHALL NOT GIVE PRESENTATIONS REGARDING SUPERHEROES SAVING THE WORLD SIR! I SHALL NOT STARE AT ENGLAND AS IF HE IS THE SEXIEST THING ALIVE, WHICH HE IS SIR!”

“DISMISSED!”

America and D.C. marched out the door with their briefcases like the wind, leaving behind a hysterically laughing Texas, a rolling-on-the-couch-laughing Kentucky and a shaking-her-head Pennsylvania. She already knew that these ‘commandments’ were not going to last half an hour.

 

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When Berlin entered the conference room, the only other person sitting there was London, who looked up and gave him a curt nod. Berlin returned the nod and sat down in his seat. Today didn’t look so bad. He had managed to escape Rome, courtesy of South Italy, his uncle hadn’t drank all the beer in the house and London was, for once, without his piercings, which meant that there was a slight chance that Washington D.C. might pay some attention to the meeting topics. All in all, today might be a good day.

2 minutes later, Berlin found himself regretting jinxing his luck. Rome had finally found him.

“Buongiorno, Berlin! It’s so nice to see you! I went to your house but you weren’t there so I asked your uncle where you were and he told me that you left for the conference so I came here as fast as I could and – “

Rome kept rambling and speaking a-mile-a-minute, leaving Berlin to try and catch up with her. She had tied up her auburn hair in a ponytail and her hands still had smudges of paint on them.

“Rome, it is not awesome to come to the conference with paint on your hands.” Berlin sighed, cutting into her tirade on Romano confiscating her oil paints.

Rome looked confused and looked down at her hands. “Oh!” She pouted. “But Berlin, I wanted to meet you! We haven’t seen each other in ages!” Rome whined.

Berlin sighed; not even trying to remind her that she had ran over to his house to show him her newest painting as she slipped into another rant. Instead, he looked around the room.

Moscow was sitting next to Beijing with a creepy smile on his face while Beijing cleaned his specs; Paris was trying to molest London and was being held back by Ottawa, who looked as if he wanted to disappear into the ground; London was doing his best to ignore Paris and was discussing his topic with Tokyo, them having found some common points in their topics; New Delhi and Karachi were arguing, again; Canberra and Wellington were discussing some details regarding the Australian Open; Athens was reviewing her presentation on ruin restoration and Ankara was sleeping, jet lag having taken hold on him.

The capitals of other nations were also either catching up on their sleep or on their presentation. There was only one capital missing and, knowing him; he might not even know that there was a world meeting. Just then the doors burst open and a loud voice drowned everyone out.

“HEY GUYS THE MLG IS HERE SO LET’S GET THIS PARTY STARTED!”

Berlin sighed. “Now that Washington D.C. has graced us with his unawesome presence, let’s roll call. We already know Washington D.C. is here. London?”

“Present”

“Paris?”

“Present, mon cher”

The roll call went on and Washington D.C. sat down in his seat, pouting. He did _not_ like not being given attention. _But_ , he _was_ sitting next to London. He sneaked a glance at London, and what he saw nearly made him fall out of his chair.

“Hey, London. Where’d your piercings go?” D.C. asked, trying hard not to freak out. Usually London looked sexy because of the piercings, but now he just looked plain cute.

“Hm? I didn’t wear them today, why?” London asked, not knowing why D.C. looked like someone had shocked him.

“Huh? Nothing, just asking.” D.C. mumbled, shifting his goldfish-spanned attention towards Budapest, who had the opening topic for the meeting.

 

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Germany got out of the taxi he had taken to the conference hall, nodding at the right intervals as Italy went on about the pasta he had had for breakfast and how Prussia had ruined it by putting beer in his plate of the ‘strands from heaven’.

The Italian was as hyper as ever, emphasizing each of his pain stricken pasta rambling with a flail of his hands, looking as if he wanted to fly.

That troublesome little pasta fairy and yes, Ludwig _did_ acknowledge him as that. Ludwig’s sense of humour was practically anti-social and didn’t like to make public appearances but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there!

Walking inside the building, Ludwig walked up to the room, which was thankfully on the ground floor, meaning that he could soon stop paying any attention to the bumbling Italian next to him and concentrate on the meeting.

“Ve~ Germany, can we have pasta after the meeting?” Italy asked in his best pleading A.K.A normal voice.

“Ja, Italy.” Germany sighed and mentally added. _‘You wouldn’t have anything else even if you were forced.’_

“Ve~ and can fratello join us?” Italy asked excitedly.

Germany stiffened a little. The older Italian hated him with a burning passion, which everyone knew was an essential part of most of the countries that were Mediterranean. He didn’t think that bringing Romano with them would be a good idea, partly because of the aforementioned reason, partly because then Spain would tag along and partly because he knew he was going to have a severe headache after this meeting and he did not want to deal with all this while his head played him the beats of its people.

He looked down to give his opinion, but was met with sad, pleading amber eyes. He sighed.

_‘Verdammt’_

“Fine”

He only really got his will at the meetings. Scratch that, no one listened to him there either. With that in mind and a cloud hanging over his head Germany pushed the doors to the conference room open and walked in with Italy, noticing Japan and England discussing something.

 

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Shit! America was late! It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make him worried whether he’d get the seat near England. Ironic really, because what made him late was the fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about how long he had loved England.

It was somewhere around the last century that he realized that he loved the older nation, and surprisingly, it didn’t come as much of a shock to him. He knew that whatever he felt for England was not brotherly, considering he had found himself shamelessly fantasizing about England and his pale, slender body and beautiful eyes and baritone, accented voice many times, but what did surprise him was the sheer amount of jealousy that came with it.

He didn’t even know he could be that jealous! But apparently Canada had a different idea.

“Al,” Canada had sighed when America was done ranting for the past 20 minutes. “We were going on a walk and Arthur picked me up instead of you. You chased me with a chainsaw for half an hour after that, scaring the crap out of me.” Canada reminded him, looking amusedly at America’s disbelieving face.

It was sometimes scary really. He vividly remembered that he had been _this close_ to snapping and nuking Russia when he had said that he would leave England in ruins. He had _actually_ contemplated locking England in a room to which only he had the key, but then Canada had made him realize how ridiculous and stupid that idea was.

Alfred didn’t realize when he reached the conference room doors and almost ran into them, catching himself at the last moment. He threw the doors to the conference room open and gave his signature laugh, dragging the attention of all the nations towards himself.

“HEY GUYS! NOT TO WORRY, THE HERO’S HERE TO LISTEN TO YOUR PROBLEMS!” He really only wanted to pay attention to England, but being the hero wasn’t easy, so he had to go along with it.

Germany gave a long suffering sigh, demanded that America sit down and keep quiet unless he wants to say something useful, and started the conference. America didn’t mind for once. Fortunately, he got the seat near England ( _‘’MURICA! FUCK YEAH!’_ ), which meant that there was no way he was going to get bored in this meeting. He could just stare at England and his beautiful green eyes which changed colour with emotions or the way his messily sexy hair created a halo around his head or the way his soft, slender fingers gripped the Parker fountain pen like a potential weapon or…………..

“Is there something on my face America?”

“Your eyebrows.”

Or he could insult England. Real smooth Alfred. REAL. FUCKING. SMOOTH. But at least this sentence could take him to one of his many England-centric goals:

Get England to get so mad at him that he tries to choke America by sucking his breath out of his mouth while keeping his head in a tight leg-lock within those smooth, creamy thighs. Only then could America die a happy man. Literally, because he had no doubt that England would only let go after finishing the job.

And thus began one of the many fights that took place at every conference.

 

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It was 6 p.m., only one hour till America’s awesome party started. He had wanted to keep the party at his house, but due to some technical difficulties caused by Tony and his spaceship, he had to arrange for a hall in the hotel they had had the conference at.

America went up to the stereo in his room, hit the play and repeat buttons and cranked up the volume to its highest and hopped about the room, taking his new, uncomfortable black suit out from the closet and setting it on the bed while he shouted out the lyrics to ‘Sexy and I Know It’. Sure it was cliché, but it was completely true.

And so started the routine of America fluttering around the room like a fairy while LMFAO blasted through the speakers.

D.C. was starting up his PC. He and a few other capitals had planned to play Garry’s mod: prop hunt tonight when he heard loud music coming from his dad’s room. He nodded his head to the music, starting the game. His dad was honestly worse than him.

The other capitals who were going to play were Ottawa, Tokyo, Copenhagen, Canberra and Budapest. He had thought about asking London, but then he remembered that he probably didn’t want to jerk off to London’s voice while online and left him out of the list.

The door to his room opened and Pennsylvania peered in with her hand on her phone’s speaker. “Can you ask dad to keep it down? I’m trying to have a decent conversation here.”

 _‘Decent conversation? So she’s talking to Suffolk again.’_ D.C. thought with a grin. “Why don’t you do it yourself?”

“Because I don’t want to see dad dancing naked.” Pennsylvania deadpanned, leaving the room.

“YOU THINK _I_ DO?” D.C. shouted at her back, frowning and picking up his phone, knowing that his dad was going to be too busy dancing to pay any attention. He was right.

America was having the time of his life when he managed to sneak a glance to the clock on his wall and saw the time.

6:30 p.m. He should be getting ready. Maybe….. Or maybe in 15 minutes…..

Then his phone rang.

“Hey, Don! What’s up?”

“DAD, TURN THE GODDAMN VOLUME DOWN! WE’VE HEARD THIS SONG HUNDREDS OF TIMES ALREADY!” D.C. shouted, trying to be heard over all the noise.

“THIS IS THE HERO’S THEME SONG AND YOU WILL NOT SWEAR IN MY PRESENCE BOY!” America shouted back. Unlike what most people thought, it was America and not England who was severely against his ‘children’ swearing.

“I DON’T CARE IF IT IS YOUR THEME SONG AND I AM NOT TECHNICALLY IN YOUR PRESENCE!” D.C. shouted back, noticing that everyone was online and added. “AND DON’T BE LATE AGAIN OR ELSE FRANCEY PANTS WILL START MOLESTING MOM!”

With that, D.C. hung up and then, going over the conversation, sighed. Yup, perfect conversation between supposed father and son.

America glared at his phone and then decided that his awesome dance routine had gone on long enough. He went over to his bed and picked up the blue striped shirt he was going to wear under his suit, sighing a little. This was practically the only part of his whole attire which was not uncomfortable as fuck.

With a frown directed towards the rest of the suit and a curse directed towards his boss for insisting that the party be kept semi – formal, as in, ‘you can talk about stuff other than politics, but that’s all’, Alfred started dressing. Then he remembered something.

 

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“Mattie, what am I supposed to do!?”

Canada sighed, dressed in his shirt, suit jacket and boxers and in the middle of tying his necktie. America had once again called him to croon of his woes and honestly, Canada was sick of it.

“He’s the living definition of sex, Mattie! You have no fucking clue how hard it is not to jump him when he comes over to watch a movie with me!” America whined down the phone, having a mental panic attack over no reason.

“Al, you _could_ try and actually _confess_ to Arthur.” Canada suggested sarcastically, knowing that if his brother had the guts he would have done it a long time ago.

“But _Mattie!”_ America whined, sounding positively pathetic. “What if Arthur doesn’t like me that way!? What if he doesn’t even swing that way!? What if me liking him _disgusts_ him? He practically raised me!”

“Then you’ll just have to sit your ass on your couch with a blanket, tubs of ice cream and chick flicks Al!” Canada snapped, having tied the knot of his tie wrong because of all the confusion. “Hell, if Arthur doesn’t like you and is actually disgusted then I’ll join you on that damned couch!”

There was silence on the line for a while.

“You’re bringing the ice cream.”

With those last words, America hung up, leaving a confused Canada behind to process what had happened.

“That hoser”

 

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England had just finished dressing in his burgundy shirt, black suit and grey tie when his phone rang. He looked down to see who was calling and frowned.

“What do you want Scotland?” He spat into the phone.

“Now is that a way to talk to yer big brother.” Scotland sounded more amused than anything. “Anyway, we’re taking yer car.”

“And why, may I ask, do you feel the need to take _my_ car instead of yours?” England gritted into the phone, not liking the direction this conversation was taking.

“It’s fun. So long, wee brother.” Scotland sang, hanging up.

_‘Great! Now I’ll have to go in a bloody taxi.’_

Before England could put a curse on Scotland, his phone rang again. He didn’t even bother saying ‘hello’ this time.

“We left you the Harley. Have fun.” The phone hung up again. England waited a few minutes before he safely decided that there would be no other phone call. _‘Well, this is better than a taxi’_.

England walked out to the kitchen where the keys had been exchanged and pocketing them, decided that once he found his brothers, he would strangle them.

 

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Hungary and Japan were ready for Operation We-Don’t-Have-A-Name-For-It-Yet. They had complemented America on the nice hall and delicious snacks; they had complemented his suit and they had snapped his mouth shut when it hung open as England got off his bike. They had even joined Italy to seem unsuspicious.

But they had an ulterior motive which could not be thwarted. They had observed which drinks America and Italy gravitated towards and it was Hungary’s job to add the potion to their glasses while Japan made sure no one noticed.

Hungary still didn’t trust the potion though, especially with the amount Romania told them to put in. But Japan, being the stickler for warnings he was, insisted that Hungary keep a control on her doubts.

So now Hungary was crouching behind the buffet table, wondering how the hell she was going to get America and Italy to drink the potion. She had already thrown all warnings out the window and emptied the vials in the glasses, chanting ‘purple for Feliciano, pink for America; left for Feliciano, right for America’ mentally. Then she noticed Rome coming over for some pastries and got a splendid idea.

“Hi Rome!”

“Buona sera Miss Hungary! You look so nice today! I heard Berlin’s uncle say –“ Rome was cut off by a murderous Hungary clutching two glasses like a lifeline.

Hungary spoke in a low and scary voice which always made Rome wonder what she had done wrong. “What did he say?”

“H-h-he said t-that for a m-m-murderous woman, y-you were looking v-very good.”

Hungary made a mental note to stick rusted nails in her frying pan for the next time she met Prussia and wiping her murderous expression, handed the two glasses to Rome.

 “I’ll kill him later. By the way, could you give these to America and your father?” Hungary said, wiping her hands with a handkerchief. “Right for Feliciano and left for America.”

Rome beamed, ignoring the sudden mood change. “Of course, Miss Hungary! Have fun!”

“You have fun too, Rubina.” Hungary replied, waving at her as she skipped away to Feliciano. She took a breath and slipped from behind the buffet counter to where Japan was standing.

“Did anyone notice?”

“No, Elizabeta-san.” Japan answered, bowing slightly, and then asking a question of his own. “Did you give them the right potions?”

“Pink to Feliciano and purple to America.” Hungary said proudly, faltering when she saw the horrified look on Japan’s face. “That was it, right?”

Japan shook his head vigorously and looked as if he was about to have a stroke. “No Elizabeta-san! Pink was supposed to be for America-san and purple for Italy-kun!”

Hungary’s reaction was belated, but exactly what Japan had been thinking.

“Shit!”

 

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Too. Close.

The fucking French frog was too close to England and America didn’t like that _one bit_.

America was currently standing near South Korea, listening to him go on and on about how literally everything was invented in Korea and how he was really hoping that they would serve kimchi. America just nodded at intervals, keeping his eyes and attention on England and France arguing again over something or the other.  He was so busy staring and collecting malevolent thoughts that he didn’t notice D.C. dragging him away from Korea and shaking him.

“… ad… Dad… DAD!”

America almost broke his glass of punch and stared at D.C., having no idea what just happened. “Hey, Don.” America said, trying and failing to get a bearing on himself. He had a stupidly strong urge to turn his attention back to England and he was almost about to do just that when D.C. snapped his fingers in front of his face.

“Dad, you sure you didn’t drink too much?” D.C. asked, eyeing the cracked glass in America’s hand and after a moment’s thought, taking it away from him and setting it down on a nearby table.

“I’m fine, D.C. I know how to handle my drinks. And this is punch, so I don’t think it’s alcoholic.” America said, waving off the concern and giving D.C. his signature grin.

To be honest, America had no idea what was wrong with him. He had only had 4 glasses of punch. That shouldn’t be too much, even if it is alcoholic. And it didn’t explain why he was suddenly untrusting of everything except himself around England.

D.C. wasn’t convinced. “Dad, you were staring at France like you wanted to kill him. You scared South Korea so much that he called Seoul to ask me to talk to you! What the hell happened?” 

_‘Seriously, that happened?’_

“Yeah dad, that happened.” D.C. replied suspiciously, making America realize that he had said that out loud. “Dad, are you sure you’re not too tired because of all this? I can talk to the President – “

America cut D.C. off with panic settling in his chest. He didn’t want to leave England all alone here. “Are you saying I’m getting old Don?” America asked, trying to say it teasingly. “I’m fine, I’ll – uh – I’ll just…”

America was distracted by France winking at England and undoubtedly trying to grope him. “I’ll just make sure your mom doesn’t get into trouble.”

D.C. was absolutely sure that he had heard a growl at the end of that sentence, but before he could ask his dad what the hell that was; he had drained his glass and was stalking over to France and England. D.C. had a bad feeling about this.

 

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 “Feli… FELICIANO LISTEN TO ME WHEN I’M TALKING TO YOU GODDAMMIT!” Romano shouted when he noticed his brother was simply staring into space while he was talking.

Space occupied by the Patata Bastardo.

Even the fucking Pomodoro Bastardo was listening to him but his own brother was busy staring at the meathead!

“Ve~ fratello, do you think Germany will take me out on a date?” Italy asked dreamily.

Spain stared at Italy with a confused expression while Romano swore his heart broke into tiny pieces. It was further crushed into fine powder when Spain decided to open his mouth.

“If he stops being so stuck up, then of course Feli!” He announced cheerfully, still smiling obliviously when Feliciano shifted his attention to him. _With his eyes open!_

“Don’t call him stuck up.” Italy said with a frown, going back to his staring and frowning even more when he saw Belgium talking to Germany.

“Why is Belgium talking to Germany?” Italy growled. _Positively growled._ Spain would have been scared if he wasn’t as curious as Italy himself. “I don’t know Feli.” He answered, sounding amazed and deep-in-thought.

On the other hand, Romano was pretty much in tune with Italy growling and was muttering exorcisms under his breath. He didn’t know whether to be worried about his brother being possessed or over his sudden increased obsession over the Potato Knucklehead.

When it was clear that the exorcisms weren’t doing anything, Romano resorting to try and talk to his brother, but before he could Italy got up and started walking towards Germany and Belgium, who were by now joined by a tipsy Prussia.

 

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Germany just wanted to go home and drink some beer. Nothing was happening in the party and his brother was talking about strange things like ‘Beer Queen’ and ‘Wurst Princess’. He didn’t even know why he was attending this. Nothing productive was happening and everyone was just getting drunk and making fools out of themselves.

“Yo, West, Feli is coming over here. Hey Feli!” Prussia shouted, squinting when Italy paid him no attention and latched onto Germany’s arm.

“Ve~ Buona sera Germany! Are you having fun?” Italy asked, looking awfully cheerful, even by his standards, making Germany and Prussia think that he might be drunk. Not wanting to dampen Italy’s spirits, Germany sighed and tried to take up a normal voice, since trying to smile would be borderline terrifying, as he had found out a few months ago. “Ja, Italy, it’s not too bad.”

Prussia kept a close eye on his brother and Italy’s conversation like he always did (awesomely of course), and had to do a take back when he heard what Italy said next.

“Because Belgium is here?”

Germany’s brain short-circuited and he tried to make a sense of what Italy was saying, only managing to come up with a confused “WAS?”

“You were enjoying the party because Belgium was here, weren’t you?” Italy asked harshly, surprising Prussia and Germany and, to some degree, even himself. He had never talked like this to anyone, let alone Germany. Germany was confused as all hell and Prussia was getting worried.

“Ita – no! What even gave you that idea?” Germany asked, looking at Prussia who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but near Italy.

“You were acting very friendly with her!” Italy accused, and in his drugged mind it made perfect sense too. Germany was always sick of everyone. He was _never friendly._ “You didn’t even talk to me in the last 20 minutes.” He added sullenly, suddenly looking heartbroken, as if the only reason he had attended the party in the first place was because Germany would be there. Suddenly, Prussia spoke up, further surprising both of them.

“You didn’t talk to him! For 20 _fucking minutes!_ West, I expected better from you!”

Germany’s sanity was burning in hell.

“Bruder!? What – “

Prussia strode up, looking like he was going to scold Germany and put an arm around his shoulder, giving Italy a smile. “Don’t worry Feli, I’ll talk some sense into West! Just wait with Toni okay? After that West is all yours.”

Italy slowly nodded in surprise as he comprehended what Prussia had said and with his trademark smile, went back to sit with Spain and Romano.

Prussia grinned at him and taking Germany to the side, let slip of his façade. “Okay West, I don’t know what unawesome thing happened to Italy, but I’m worried, you should get out of here as soon as possible.”

Germany tried to stave away a headache. “But bruder, shouldn’t we _ask_ Italy what is wrong? Maybe he’s worried about something or stressed – “

Prussia cut him off. “I’ll take care of it if something’s wrong. You just get the fuck out of here to – to – some place Italy can’t find.” 

Germany sighed and gave his brother an incredulous look. “Bruder, he can find me even if I lock all the doors and windows ten times over how the hell am I supposed to do this!?”

“Just do it West!” Prussia said and gave Germany a few shoves to get him going.

_‘Now to hide myself.’_

 

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“America! What the bleeding hell are you doing!?”

When England had wondered about all the things that could go wrong in America’s party, he had not taken _this_ into account. He was currently _pinned to a bloody wall_ in some corridor after America had marched over to where he was standing and dragged him away from there without offering any explanation or letting him make one up.

He _did not_ like this situation.

“Keeping you away from France, what else?” America said as if England’s brain cells were dying if he couldn’t figure that out by now. He didn’t take into consideration that his body was way too close to England’s and that he was literally breathing in his face.

England pulled on his best you-know-that’s-not-what-I-meant face and replied. “I can see that. What I’m talking about is this.” He gestured down to America’s thigh between his legs and tried not to blush. The git was not supposed to be this close to him. “You have never been this concerned about me being around the frog, what happened today?”

Apparently America didn’t like that question because the next second England felt himself being pressed further into the wall, with America face _bloody millimeters_ from his own.

He _officially_ did not like this situation.

Thankfully (or not, depending the point of view), America simply pouted and buried his face into England’s neck. “I don’t like him touching you. At all. Anywhere.” He growled out, lightly biting England’s neck and nuzzling it. “You’re mine.”

England never had a lot of patience and he was not going to start now when there was something clearly wrong with Alfred being possessive and clingy. He needed to get out of here, but he didn’t think he could possibly overcome America like this. He needed America to loosen his hold.

“America – I appreciate that you – um – care, so much for my well-being but could you – possibly loosen your hold a little?” England asked as politely as he could even though he wanted to do nothing more than slam the git’s head against that very same wall until he came back to his senses. “My wrists don’t feel too good.” Which actually was true. He would be surprised if they were not broken by now, or even bruised. However, he wasn’t ready for what happened next.

America immediately let go, dragging England’s wrists down and tenderly rubbing them, looking _morose_ , as if he almost killed someone’s puppy. Because the universe didn’t think that much weird was enough, Alfred kissed Arthur’s wrists with a guiltily mumbled ‘sorry’ and England almost felt bad for what he was about to do.

Almost. He still had a pride and he was not going anywhere _near_ Alfred with a ten foot pole before they had this issue solved out.

So before Alfred could do anything else, Arthur grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back, throwing him against the wall and pressing the pulse point near his elbow hard.

“WH – ARTHUR LET GO  – “ America could only get these words out before he fainted, slumping down to the ground as England let go of him.

“I’m sorry Alfred.” Arthur muttered, before running the hell out of there.

**Author's Note:**

> And this is the start of a new fic which will lead to a lot of problems for everyone in general. On that note, HIT IT PRUSSIA!  
> Prussia: - HOW DARE YOU DO THIS TO WEST YOU GRAUSAM WENIG –  
> Auricle: - - AND THAT’S ALL FOLKS! I’LL COME BACK WHEN PRUSSIA SWITCHES OFF HIS ‘DALEK MODE’!


End file.
